This morning, for whatever reason, I woke up and stared deeply into my fingertips. They were oddly intriguing, like trunk-sliced tree rings, rising Grecian waves, or peach-toned dishes of malachite. They were so magnificent to watch, that I wondered if something as seemingly simple as our swirly fingerprints could inspire the likes of Van Gogh. There is so much magic born into us, such majesty and gift at the tips of our fingers, that it’s strange to imagine how often we can forget to just wake up and grasp.